Between Us
by Fic Fairy
Summary: Holby City. There's a spark between Connie Beauchamp and Paul Rose that the rest of the Holby staff can't easily define, but little do they realise that its the untold story of a teenage romance that holds the key. Feedback appreciated!
1. Paul, Awkward Questions

Between Us

**Between Us**

I'd only been in the bar about 2 ½ minutes when she accosted me. I was just lifting a much needed Scotch to my lips when she appeared, over glossed lips, too short a hem line, grating voice and all. She was clearly two sheets to the wind, an obvious victim of one bottle of Barcardi Breezer too many. I tried to fob her off with a polite smile, but unsurprisingly it didn't work, and she plonked herself down unceremoniously on the barstool next to mine.

"Mr Rose?"

I groaned inwardly but responded as politely as I could possibly manage, being careful not to actually look at her, knowing if I did engage her I'd probably be stuck with her for the rest of the evening, "Yes Donna?"

"I've got a question right. And you're probably going to think it's like really cheeky."

In all probability, knowing her, yes.

"But like, it's not really me asking. I'm just the spokesperson. It's them lot that want to know." She turned and indicated a booth at the far end of the bar, crowded into which appeared to be a handful of her fellow nurses, Maddy Young, Ric Griffin and my own colleague, the 'ever loyal' Dr Green. I pulled a face at the latter, hoping he'd grasp the fact I was deeply unimpressed with him for unleashing the god forsaken Nurse Jackson on me; we anesthetists are supposed to stick together. They were all grinning slightly viciously and I suspected that whatever was going to come out of Donna's mouth next was not going to amuse me half as much as it was them.

Best to get it over with then.

"Yes?" I said sharply, staring into my drink to avoid looking at her still. She giggled nervously and then eventually, obviously realizing I was going to hit her if she didn't get on with it, blurted out her enquiry.

At her words, my heart sank.

Please God, anything but that.

My defence mechanisms kicked in. Act dumb or bust.

"I'm sorry Donna? 'Have Mrs Beauchamp and I ever done what'?! Operated together? Because I'd have thought that answer to that was fairly obvious just from looking at the theatre list."

She obviously didn't appreciate my diversionary tactics because when she spoke again there was definitely a note of 'huff' in her voice, and when I allowed myself a brief glance at her face, she was rolling her eyes disdainfully,

"Noooo, you know, done 'it'." She lowered her volume slightly, as if afraid Connie was about to walk in and bust her virtually on display arse for being a gossipy little trollop. Which no doubt she would have done if she'd been there.

"Have you screwed her?"

I could have laughed at that. The stupid little airhead really did have no idea. I forced myself to look at her, knowing that if I didn't she'd take it as evidence that I was lying.

"No, I've never screwed Mrs Beauchamp." Well it was true. Kind of. In a manner of speaking. "Now," I finally got my drink into my mouth, and swallowed, regretting it seconds later when the amber liquid burned my throat, "am I allowed to be left alone to drink in peace now?"

She shrugged, looking somewhat disappointed, "Yeah, I guess. Sorry. Its just like you're always so flirty with each other, and we just thought," she faded out, clearly not seeing the need to spell out what they'd 'just thought' since it was pretty bloody obvious to both of us. "I guess we just wanted to know what the story was with the two of you. Sorry."

As I watched her beating a hasty retreat back to her cronies, I took a deep breath and then downed the rest of my drink, mulling over her words.

There was no way on earth they were ever going to know what the story was between us.

Some things in life are just too special to share.


	2. Paul, First Glimpse

I'll never forget the first time I set eyes on Connie Beauchamp, or Connie Wilson as she was then

I'll never forget the first time I set eyes on Connie Beauchamp, or Connie Wilson as she was then. It was in the dining room on the first day of the Autumn Term, at The Ridings, the coed boarding school I'd attended since I was 11, and that I'd decided to return to as a 6th former. Being out of uniform for the first time, along with the pretty impressive set of O level results I'd received that summer meant that I was really feeling ever inch the big man on campus, but even that couldn't stop me going silly in the face of a mere fourth former. Not one that made the impression on me that Connie did anyway.

She was a strange fish back then. Still just a kid really, lacking in those curves that in later life would serve her so well, and modeling our school uniform which wasn't overly flattering at the best of times, but especially not when topped off with a dodgy pair of granny glasses. But yet she had something – a kind of elegance or grace that set her head and shoulders above the rest of the girls in her year, none of whom I'd ever look twice at.

I watched as she weaved her way through the tables, tray in one hand, with a hefty text book set under the other arm. She glanced briefly at a group of girls who I'd later discover were in her form, before heading in the opposite direction, to a secluded table where she sat alone, head bowed over her book as she ate, attracting the curious glances of those nearby.

My best mate, Adam, who had followed my gaze to her, gave a snort of derision as we watched her juggling her book and food. "What's she playing at? Studying? At lunch? We don't need new squirts turning up making the rest of look bad." I saw his point to an extent, but at the same time was unconvinced how impressed the staff would be; our Headmistress was a real dragon with a complete fetish about good table manners – I wasn't sure reading at the table fell into that category no matter what the nature of the reading material.

I got to my feet, picking up my own lunch, ignoring the sound of my friends calling after me, and headed over to her table where I was rewarded with a frosty glare, a frosty glare that I've seen many times in the years since. She uses it so often, and to such good effect, that I swear she should have patented it by now. Mind you, I was a thick skinned cocky little shit back then so I completely ignored it. I'd like to see someone try that now, and live to tell the tale.

So yes, ignoring the glare I sat down opposite her, which perplexed her and captured her attention for all of about 10 seconds before she returned her attention to her book. I gave her a few moments and then cleared my throat,

"I'm Paul. I'm in the 6th form."

She looked up, nonplussed and gave me a sarcastic smile, "Congratulations."

I sighed, starting to wish I hadn't bothered and then tried again, coming straight to the point this time, "I just thought I'd point out that reading in the dining room isn't exactly going to ingratiate you with anyone. Staff or pupils. Just so you know."

As confusion clouded her face, I couldn't help thinking that behind the glasses she was an exceptionally pretty girl, with beautiful high cheekbones and eyes I could have drowned in. Could still drown in if I'm honest. She didn't give me time to think about it though.

"Why not? I always used to read at lunch at my old school. It was completely acceptable there."

Usually such an attitude would have grated on me. You know what it's like when you're a kid. You think your school is the worst place on earth until the 'new kid' comes along and goes on and on about how its not as good as their old school and then suddenly, its like your school is a chocolate factory or something equally as cool, and they're just a pathetic little tosser for not appreciating that. In the past I'd smacked kids for less, but yet, it was different with her – it didn't come across as irritating just as naivety, and besides which, she had those eyes…

I smiled at her, "Ah yeah, but your old school didn't have Dragon Davies." I nodded in the direction of the door where our esteemed Head was making her entrance, "She thinks 'Thou shalt have good table manners is the 11th commandment'."

"Oh." Finally taking the point she pushed her book to one side, and it was only then that I saw what it was.

A very old and battered copy of Gray's Anatomy.

I grinned inwardly. I don't think fate should really have approved me chatting up a girl two years my junior, but apparently it was prepared to give me a decent hand anyway. I turned to look at her, "You're interested in medicine? I'm going to med school when I leave here."

At my words, her frostiness disappeared, a smile that I would later fall in love with broke out on her face, and I knew in that instant, that the beautiful girl in front of me was going to be my friend for life…


	3. Connie, End of the Day

It had been one of those days; lengthy and tiring, and by the time I walked out of theatre for the last time I wanted nothing

It had been one of those days; lengthy and tiring, and by the time I walked out of theatre for the last time I wanted nothing more than to head home, and climb into a warm bath with my daughter; taking the opportunity to soothe my aches and pains and spend time with my beautiful baby girl all in one go.

Some hope.

I stopped by the office to pick up my things, and that was where I found Elliot, looking mournful. Now Elliot has the propensity to look mournful over a whole array of things ranking in seriousness from 'food trauma' (i.e. not enough of it) to the more serious, but knowing him as well as I do I was quick to surmise that on this occasion it wasn't about a shortage of smoked salmon or anything so easily solved. His mood seemed too heavy for that.

"Are you ok?" I asked, cautiously, praying that whatever his problem was it wasn't going to interfere with my plans for the evening. I love Elliot, and I'd do anything for him, but I love long baths with my daughter more. It therefore came as something of a disappointment to me when he sighed, and uttered three words I really didn't want to hear.

"Death in theatre."

I sighed myself then. Abandoned my mission to gather my possessions and sat down at my desk, hoping that my tiredness wasn't interfering with my sympathetic expression. "Oh, I see. I'm sorry. What happened?"

Elliot grimaced, tossing one of his allegedly precious artifacts from one hand to the other with such a level of ferocity that I started to fear for my own safety. The man is clumsy at the best of times and I feared that if he got anymore worked up said artifact was going to come flying in my direction and knock my head off.

"An extreme reaction to the anesthetic. So we're no doubt going to be subject to yet another enquiry." There was a real note of anger in his voice, and I understood completely. A death attributed to the anesthetic is generally no one's fault, but it the litigious age we live in, that fact wouldn't stop the Board crawling all over the department like particularly nasty and persistent bugs looking for someone to blame – be it nursing staff, surgeon or anesthetist. I groaned out loud at the thought, and Elliot must have noticed then how tired I was because he changed tack then and started trying to chivvy me into going home.

"Are you sure?" I looked at him questioningly, hoping like hell he wasn't about to change his mind and beg me to stay so we could go over the details of his failed operation, but to my relief he nodded, "Go home and be with your baby."

He knows me as well as I know him I guess.

That said I wasn't expecting my bath to be that relaxing now my brain was contemplating the idea of an investigation. I could see it now – nurses up in arms at the constant grilling, Elliot on edge and the poor anesthetist getting it in the neck from everyone as the Board did their big divide and conquer trick.

Hell on bloody earth, and inevitably for absolutely nothing because that's precisely what they'd turn up.

I got to my feet, still thinking it all over in my head as I picked up my bag and car keys, and then stopping in my tracks as I realized I was missing a vital part of the picture,

"Who was the anesthetist Elli?"

He sighed, and gave me one of those looks that meant I knew the answer to the question without him having to answer it, even if I had no idea why I knew. I groaned again, "Not Paul?"

He nodded, "Unfortunately, yes. He's very cut up about it. You might want to call him." He paused, clearly in two minds whether to tell me something, and then apparently decided to do so anyway, "Or… he said something about heading to the bar."

Without even stopping to think about it I dropped my bag to the floor again, and looked at him, "Could you call the nanny for me? Tell her I'll be an hour max."

"I'll do better than that. I'll go and take over from her myself."

I appreciated the gesture, especially since he'd had a hard day too, and smiled gratefully as I tossed my house keys onto his desk, "Thanks Elli." I turned on heel and headed for the door, only stopping when Elliot called me back.

"Connie? Pardon me for prying, but what's the story with you two?"

I smiled at him, an enigmatic smile, or at least what I hoped was an enigmatic smile,

"The story with us two, is between us two."

And that was precisely how it was going to stay.


	4. Connie, First Day Nerves

It had been one of those days; lengthy and tiring, and by the time I walked out of theatre for the last time I wanted nothing

Paul and I have discussed our past many times, and he always maintains that our friendship, relationship, call it what you will, started when I fell head over heels in love with him over a copy of Gray's Anatomy in a crowded dining room while he was trying to play the knight in shining armour.

He's wrong. On first sight, I thought he was a complete ponce.

You have to remember, I grew up on the mean streets of Peckham where men were men. His preppy Chinos and good manners didn't impress me in the slightest. Plus I wasn't particularly fond of men at that point anyway, but more about that in a minute.

So yes, there was no love. Only mild pity, and great deal of resentment that he was telling me what to do. Now you'd think that as the new girl, on my first day in private school after 10 years of hell in the state system, I might be grateful for advice and guidance as to what was expected to me, but in all honesty its not in my nature. I don't appreciate being bossed around, I never have.

Also, if I'm honest, I was feeling very slightly prickly that day and not really in the mood for conversation, hence the fact I'd sat on my own in the first place. I should have been ecstatic about finally getting my own way about private education, I'd been banging on about it long enough and my parents had blocked me every time, or at least they had until I'd lost my virginity to the school bad boy, had him hang my knickers from the school flag pole (ok, stop sniggering at the back) and consequently had the words "Connie No Knickers" written in spray paint on the front door of our terraced house.

Don't get me wrong, they didn't blame me – being sent to boarding school wasn't a punishment; if it had have been I'd never have ended up in the coed school I did, it would have been a convent. The truth was, they felt so sorry for me that they finally believed my claim that I was too good for my comprehensive school, let me sit scholarship exams in various schools, and when I was given a place, sold their house to make up the deficit of the fees.

You heard right. They sold their house for me. Ok, so it was only a crappy little 2 bedroom job in Peckham, but they sold it, and moved into an even worse 2 bedroom flat.

No pressure.

Hence the fact I was feeling prickly. I say prickly, I mean nervous, but I'd never have admitted to that at the time. In fact, it's a miracle I'm doing so now. I was also feeling out of my depth, something else I wouldn't usually admit to, and so the last thing I needed was some pretentious git going on at me and choking me with his aftershave.

I admit, yes, hearing he was a potential medic too did interest me a little. Even age 14 I was acutely aware that my future career would be heavily influenced by who I knew rather than what I knew, so I was determined to stay on the right side of him, even if he was getting up nose.

Oh, and scaring the living daylights out of me.

These days when a man flirts with me, I flirt back. I virtually have a PHD in the art of flirting. But that was then. I'd been hurt and humiliated by the boy who took my virginity and I wasn't planning on letting it happen again, which meant I felt particularly unsettled when he started making noises about getting together to study sometime.

It didn't matter whether the accent was 'Sarf London' or 'Home Counties' – I knew precisely what he suggesting. Or what I thought he was suggesting anyway. Still, as a prospective medic I wasn't going to let anything get in the way of my 'networking' and so I agreed to meet him in the relative safety of the library the following afternoon.

And in doing so, I made the best friend I'll ever have…


End file.
